


not time or opportunity

by vulpesvortex



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Indecision, M/M, Mutually Requited Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 18:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13723416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpesvortex/pseuds/vulpesvortex
Summary: Benji's sort of lost interest in the movie.





	not time or opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> I completely forgot I wrote this months ago after rewatching S&S, or _why_ , but it exists now so, uh, enjoy? They are dumb boys and I wanna knock their heads together and make them talk about their feelings, but they refused. 
> 
> _"If I could but know his heart, everything would be easy."_ \- Jane Austen, Sense  & Sensibility

Benji had no idea why they were watching Sense & Sensibility, but he was sprawled on a couch with Will, feet tucked into his lap and his stomach pleasantly full, and in any case Benji'd never been one to complain about being subjected to Alan Rickman's amazing voice. He wasn't about to start now, especially when Will was letting him use his body as a pillow.  
  
Both of them were completely tanked from a mission, too wiped to worry about overlapping body-parts or personal space or the pungently greasy cartons of leftover chinese scattered across the coffee table smelling up the room. That's why Benji's feet were in Will's lap, see, there wasn't room on the table, it made perfect sense. Even the movie did a little, if you squinted. Will had that whole classical education aura thing going for him, like he'd been reading Wilde and Catullus on the sly in boarding school, which Benji - having actually been to Oxford and met plenty of the sort - did not think was his type but the American version apparently was, because damn was he here for Will. He just hoped it'd really been Oscar Wilde Will had been reading and not, like, Richardson.  
  
He seemed to like Austen, at the very least.  
  
Will was tilted forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, watching the movie intently. Not speaking, eyes glued to the screen. Benji'd spent a fruitless half hour trying to figure out just _who_ Will was so captivated by before he realized Will was watching all the characters with equal attention. He was analyzing them, completely engrossed. Will _would_ like that, now wouldn't he, all the complicated interplay of emotions and relationships, what did they _say_ , what did they _mean_ , what would achieve the greatest happiness for the largest amount of people, and was it going to happen? Benji'd never had the patience, honestly - no one ever _did_ anything in these books - but as a movie it was bearable and even sorta suspenseful. He didn't trust that Willoughby fellow one bit (and he got the feeling he wasn't supposed to) and Alan Rickman should never look this sad and lovelorn, it was going to make the next time he watched Die Hard seriously weird.  
  
He prodded Will with his foot. "So you like this, huh? Sad people in the rain?"  
  
Will's eyes snapped to his, startled, like he'd forgotten Benji was even _there_ which was a little offensive but Will had also reflexively grabbed his foot in surprise and was just sort of....holding it in his lap, so Benji decided not to get miffed about it. It was kind of endearing, the way that the million little gears in Will's impressively nerdy brain would turn on anything, even a twenty year old costume drama where everyone thought they couldn't have what they wanted until they got it, and even then there was still all that godawful English rain. Kind of amazing, that he'd let his guard down far enough to get caught up in it even with Benji right there on the couch with him.  
  
"I like...figuring it out."  
  
Benji laughed. "It's not a murder mystery."  
  
"Nah, it's love," Will said. "That's much more complicated."  
  
"Is it? I wouldn't say so." It got a little awkward to maintain eyecontact at that point, so Benji turned back to the screen, where Ferrars had seemingly, infuriatingly married _the totally wrong person_ , what the fuck? "You just gotta jump. You gotta jump or someone else's gonna be there before you, or you're both waiting on the other person to jump until you _grow old and die_ ," he motioned fervently at the screen," or not so old as the case may be with all those Victorian fevers conveniently knocking all the damsels flat whenever the plot warrants or, or someone gets blown up or shot or whatever, and everyone's just gonna be sad and rained on forever with nothing to ever make the bad stuff worth it."  
  
Will leaned back on the couch a little, taken aback by the extensiveness of Benji's reply. "But how do you know when it's safe to jump?"  
  
Benji let out a frustrated groan. "Will, darling, nothing in the world is safe, which you being big on risk analysis, I think you know. I can think of six things that could kill us on this couch right now without us even seeing it coming."  
  
Will raised an eyebrow, and Benji grinned, putting up his hand to count on his fingers. "CO2 poisoning."  
  
Will rolled his eyes, a smile starting to tug at the corner of his expressive mouth. "Exploding smartphone."  
  
"Enemy sniper rifle."  
  
"Rabid dog." At Benji's surprised look, he added, "Downstairs neighbor's got a Great Pyrenee. It could eat us and still have room for dessert."  
  
Benji blinked expressively. "That's disconcerting. Falling jet fuselage."  
  
Will laughed, half-heartedly putting out a leg to kick Benji in the thigh. "Oh, fuck you, this isn't Donnie Darko."  
  
"Just because it's statistically improbable doesn't mean it's impossible."  
  
"Even if that counts, that's only five."  
  
Benji briefly considered saying _I could expire from wanting you_ but that was too florid and too much and just, so not the moment, so he flicked his eyes back to the movie then smirked back at Will. "I could die of boredom if these people don't get their heads out of their arses."

Will laughed, finally - regrettably - letting go of Benji's foot with one last companionable squeeze, and they turned back to the movie in silence. Will sank back in easily, seemingly unperturbed by the skip in plot their conversation had caused. Maybe he'd read the book.  
  
Benji sort of lost interest in the movie. Things had happened when he hadn't been looking and turned out everything was gonna turn out okay after all: wedding bells for all the right people, goodbye money troubles, hello sunshine (as if, this was _England_ ). He watched Will instead. There were few things better than watching Will when he was like this: the glowing light from the television reflected on a spot of wetness on his lower lip, on the lightest parts of his hair, washing out the color in his irises and turning them blue and bright, every part of him still and tense with focus. Benji was aware of the warm wave in his stomach, a tipping, overturning sensation that was equal parts wonderful and unpleasant and above all so depressingly familiar. He was sensible - ha ha! - also of the mirror they made of the movie, which was another reason it sorta made sense they'd be watching it, if the universe worked like that: Will over there, thinking too much as usual and too careful by half, and Benji over here, a welter of emotion and ready to jump into the adventure despite all the very good and _sensible_ reasons against it, and wondering if they were ever gonna meet in the middle.  
  
“I guess it’s sorta like that Aesop thing, with the coat and the wind and the sun,” Benji said, after the credits started playing over the wedding bells. “Don’t need too much of one or the other, you gotta ride the sweet spot inbetween.”  
  
Will looked up at him, still with that laser focus in his eyes, and he was probably seeing too much in Benji’s face, but it’s not like the man was going to do anything about it. That was the whole frustrating, insane-driving bloody point.  
  
“That would appear to be the moral of the story, yes.” Will blinked slowly, something he did sometimes in lieu of shaking himself to clear his head. Benji loved that slow look, like a cat feeling safe at home. Like there was no hurry to shutter the thoughts away. Will’s eyes tracked the sprawl of their bodies on the couch, the emptied six pack scattered across the coffee table, and the night long since fallen outside the unshuttered window. He sat up, extracting himself from Benji’s legs. “Are you crashing here? I’ll go get the sheets.”  
  
And that was that, then. Will walked off to pull the extra set of bedding from the linen closet, moving slow and easy in his rumpled suit and bare feet, cast in the dim light of the television. Benji flopped back against the cushions, allowing himself one aggrieved sigh before folding away his disappointment. He turned off the TV set and made himself comfortable on Will’s white leather couch, kicking off his jeans and socks. Will returned and threw the sheets at the couch, covering Benji with a quick laugh. “You alright like this? I got sweats if you want ‘em.”  
  
“Nah, I’m good.” The leather felt nice and cool against his legs, the parts they hadn’t been sitting on at least. “Mmm, good night, Will.”  
  
“Good night, Benji,” Will said and flicked off the last light in the kitchen on the way to the bedroom.  
  
Well, there was always tomorrow. 


End file.
